


something new

by marblecats (kitthefox)



Series: something new [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Developing Relationship, Early Days, Fights, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitthefox/pseuds/marblecats
Summary: A chance meeting (and a scrap) on a Friday night, and what follows.Or how two unruly boys find each other, much to everyone else's mild alarm.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz | Flake, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: something new [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098797
Comments: 37
Kudos: 65





	1. Friday

Till breathes out, smoke curling into the thick air of the tiny venue like the last tendrils of his patience. He's watching a friend of a friend's band and they're good and noisy and on any other day he would be getting into it and not brooding with a beer, but he had an argument with his kid's mother just before coming out and he's not quite stopped being angry yet. 

He tips the remains of his drink down his throat and asks for another. The girl in charge of alcohol offers him a sweet smile as she passes him the bottle, but he ignores her and lights another cigarette. 

The band are getting towards the end of their set, the energy reaching a crescendo and the pit becoming wilder. The friend of a friend is the singer in this band, but Till's gaze falls on the guitarist who is currently bare chested, broad shouldered and intense. Most of the bands he watches at the weekends are carefree but this guitarist looks like he's got the world on his shoulders. Till can relate to that. Idly he considers waiting until the end of the set and introducing himself, but a glance at his watch pulls on something guilty in his chest. He puts his beer down, half finished, and leaves the venue into the chill of the evening air. He makes his way home, back to his baby and his responsibilities and likely another argument, he can't wait.

Two weeks later and he's in another too small room, watching Feeling B cause a ruckus. He knows them well enough and they're always a good show. He's childless for an entire weekend as he and his ex have come to a tentative understanding and although he's a little anxious about it, it feels good to be out and not have to worry about getting home. 

A warm body knocks into him and sends the owners beer cascading down Till's front. Till instinctively puts his arms out to catch them before they end up on the floor and he feels broad shoulders under his hands. He focuses through the smoke in the air and realises it's the guitarist from the other week. The boy offers him a grim and apologetic smile before whirling round to confront whoever it was who tripped him in the first place. 

Before Till knows what's happening, he's standing almost back to back with this wild blonde boy, having been dragged into a fight that feels like an overreaction but he couldn't just leave him to it. 

A bottle makes contact with the side of Till's head, it smashes into a million pieces and he staggers backwards. For some reason this only serves to enrage his fighting partner further, and he launches himself at the person who swung it. Till shakes his head to try and clear his vision, intent on rejoining the fray. He gets one swing in, knocking someone aiming for his blonde boy entirely off balance. They go crashing to the floor in a heap and it's at that point that the security for the evening decide to get involved. 

They drag their opponents, and the blonde boy outside. They don't try that with Till, he's bigger than they are, but he follows for the sake of his battle partner. 

Both sides are sent in opposite directions with instructions to calm down and go home. Blonde boy grins wildly at Till, there's blood in his teeth. 

"Come on." He says, beckoning Till with a jerk of his head. Till is unwaveringly compelled to follow him. 

He learns that his name is Sven or maybe Scholle, and he smokes even more than Till does. He drags Till by the hand to a spot lit up by a streetlight and peers up at him with a cigarette between his bloody teeth. 

"You're a bit cut up." He says, poking at Till's hairline. His fingers come away sticky and red and Till grimaces at the sight. "Why did you get involved?" Scholle demands as he wipes his fingers on Till's front, it's already ruined from beer and sweat so Till isn't too upset about it. 

He's a little surprised by the question and he doesn't really have an answer so he shrugs. "Seemed like a good idea?" He offers. Scholle frowns at him.

"Do you get in many fights because it seems like a good idea?" 

Till shakes his head, trying not to laugh at the entirely unwarranted indignation in Scholle's voice. "Not really." He replies with another shrug. "Only when the boy in my arms decides to start one." 

That pulls a surprised laugh from Scholle, and he regards Till curiously, head tilted to the side like a quizzical puppy. They're both quiet for a long minute, sizing the other up. 

"Do you live near here?" Scholle asks, breaking the silence. 

Till looks around to gauge where he is and gather his bearings. "Not far." He confirms and then pauses, not missing the hopeful glint in Scholle's eyes. "Do you want to come back with me? Get cleaned up?" 

Scholle nods looking pleased, and offers his cigarette packet to Till who takes one feeling as though he's just passed some kind of test. He lights it and then sets off in the right direction, Scholle at his side. The walk to his place is cold and they talk to keep their minds off it. By the time Till unlocks his door, he feels like he's known Scholle for years instead of hours. 

-

Scholle steps into Till's place and savours the rush of warmth that hits him. He isn't entirely sure what he's doing here, but this strange quiet man who jumped into a fight for him without question intrigues him. He'd seen him two weeks ago, glaring at him from across the room but he'd left before Scholle could do anything about it. He knows of him vaguely, from other shows and other bands but he's never spoken to him before tonight. 

He's big and imposing but his voice is quiet and measured, he's thoughtful with his answers to Scholle's questions and doesn't mock him for his wild ambitions. His taste in music is excellent and he seems just unruly enough underneath his quiet stoicism to be truly interesting.

Till clears his throat and Scholle realises he's been stood still in Till's little hallway without actually moving. He sheepishly kicks his battered shoes off and follows Till further into the house. He's led to the kitchen where his eye is drawn by a high chair and a few toys and he raises an eyebrow at Till who gets this defiant look in his eyes, as if daring him to say anything. Scholle shakes his head and holds up his hands placatingly. 

"I'm not judging you, I just didn't know you had a kid." He says, as Till relaxes a little and rummages in his cupboards. 

"She's with her mother." Till replies gruffly. He's retrieved a bottle of something that smells strong and two cups. He pours them a drink each, and raises one of them to toast. Scholle clinks their cups together and throws back the whole thing, it burns but it's good so he holds out his empty for a top up. 

"So you and the mother?" He asks, might as well be bold about it, he thinks. Till just frowns.

"We get on for her sake, nothing else." He grumbles, clearly uncomfortable so Scholle doesn't ask further. Besides his attention is drawn by the cut on Till's head that's been steadily bleeding despite Till brushing at it every couple of minutes. 

"Let me sort that cut out." He says, pointing at it after putting his drink down. Till nods after a moment of consideration and pulls a clean dish cloth from a drawer. Scholle takes it from him and wets it a little with some of the alcohol. He can feel Till watching him warily, but he supposes he'd be nervous too if a complete stranger was stood in his kitchen offering to tend his wounds, if he had a kitchen of course. 

He edges closer to the other man, and raises his hands to his face. He lays one hand against a scarred and stubbled cheek to keep him steady and dabs at the cut with the cloth. Till hisses in pain and the muscles in his jaw tense. 

"Baby." Scholle murmurs, earning himself a dark look. He presses the damp cloth to Till's wound to try and stop the bleeding and finds himself being watched by wide eyes that remind him of the ocean. It's oddly intimate standing this close to someone and patching them up, but it's not uncomfortable. He checks the cut, the bleeding seems to have slowed enough that it no longer worries him, but he resolves to keep an eye on it regardless. Without really thinking about it, he runs his hand through Till's hair, checking for bits of glass or other hidden injuries. A few tiny shards fall out but his hand comes away free of blood so he goes to step away, satisfied that Till is okay. 

A hand catches him though and holds him still. Till's other hand pulls his jaw down gently and inspects his teeth which makes Scholle blush for some strange reason. Till smirks a little but nods and lets him close his mouth, then runs questioning fingers over what Scholle thinks will inevitably be a black eye and bruised cheekbone tomorrow. Apparently he finds nothing of concern because he lets go of Scholle and mumbles that he's just "returning the favour." 

He's quite sweet, this unusual man, and Scholle immediately decides that he's going to keep him around. 

-

Till asks Scholle if he's hungry, if only to give him something to do and make himself feel less awkward. He watches a dozen confusing emotions flit across Scholle's face before he nods and says that he's starving. Till's eyes flick up and down, perhaps starving is an exaggeration but he does look like he could use a good meal or two. 

Between the two of them they make too many sandwiches and polish them all off, standing side by side over Till's kitchen counter. Scholle makes him laugh more than he has in weeks, without even really trying. Till likes him, perhaps alarmingly so. 

He takes the cigarette from between Scholle's fingers, ignoring his protests and pressing another drink into his now empty hands. It seems to placate him and he drinks without taking his eyes off Till. They're very blue against the scruffy blonde of his hair. He smiles easily and steps back into Till's personal space, Till thinks he's going to grab for the cigarette so he holds it out of his reach, trying to be teasing. Scholle rolls his eyes and gives Till an exasperated look. Then he leans in and presses his closed mouth against Till's, just for a second. 

Till doesn't respond, can't respond, can't even will his body into responding he's that surprised. He stands frozen and panicking, watching sadness tinged with disappointment grace Scholle's features. The cigarette is still burning, almost singing his fingers so Scholle gently takes it from him without saying anything, whilst Till is still unable to react. 

Scholle smokes the last of the cigarette and drops the end into the sink. He busies himself with pouring another couple of drinks and Till realises when he hands him his without meeting his eye that he's giving him the opportunity to forget this and move on. Till finds that he doesn't want that, so he wraps his free arm around Scholle's waist and tugs him closer, or tries to, Scholle resists.

"Don't pity me." He hisses, that wild anger now back in place. Till regards him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for him to calm down, like he does when his daughter acts out. At the exact moment Scholle deflates just a little, Till pulls him in and kisses him. Scholle softens against him, tentatively though as though he thinks Till might still push him away. 

"It's not the best pulling technique I've ever seen." Till says quietly, still anchoring Scholle in place. The other man blinks at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Spilling your drink on me, starting a fight just so I'll save you, you could have just bought me a beer in the first place and saved us both all that blood." 

The indignation in Scholle's eyes is so instantaneous Till can't help but laugh. 

-

Till is an infuriating surprise, Scholle thinks, standing in his grasp and peering into his gently amused eyes. 

"I didn't do it on purpose!" He snaps, knowing full well that Till doesn't believe him in the slightest. "I was coming to talk to you, but that dickhead tripped me up." 

Till tilts his head to the side. "You were coming to talk to me?"

Scholle shrugs. "You looked interesting." It's not a lie, when he saw Till staring at him two weeks ago, he got the impression the man either wanted to fight him or fuck him. He says this out loud and delights in the blush that rises up Till's neck. He rubs at it in an oddly self conscious gesture, offering Scholle a lopsided smile. 

"I'm not sure which one yet." He says. "Depends if you get me into any more trouble." 

Scholle snorts at that. "We'll see. Have you got any more of this?" He picks up the nearly empty bottle and shakes it at Till who gives him an emphatic eye roll. 

"Yes, why, are you planning on staying?" Till asks innocently. Scholle's mind scratches to a halt like a broken record. He does want to stay but he doesn't want to impose, and he doesn't have anywhere else to be, or really anywhere to go. He would only be finding a different sofa to sleep on after all. So he nods, Till grins at him showing off crooked teeth. Scholle really wants to kiss him again.

He brushes a few strands of Till's hair away from his face, mindful of the cut, and catches the other man glancing down at his mouth. It's all the invitation he needs to lean in and kiss him softly, his hand drifting back to lightly grasp into Till's hair. Till's large, warm hands settle on Scholle's hips, steadying him as they kiss shyly, neither quite having the nerve to go any further. 

Till pulls back first, he noses at Scholle's cheek and avoids his eyes. Scholle can't have that, he gives a little tug to Till's soft brown locks and directs him back where he wants him. He files the way Till's eyes darken a shade away for later but for now he kisses him with more intent, more heat. Till opens up for him and he tastes like brandy and cigarette smoke. Scholle thinks it might be the most addictive thing he's ever tasted. 

When he pulls back, it's only because his lungs are burning. He's leaning fully on Till now, whose arms are wound securely around his waist. He can feel him, hot and hard against his hip bone and with a tiny push of his hips he shows Till that he feels exactly the same. 

Stormy eyes snap up to meet his, dark eyelashes fluttering. Till's skin is flushed and warm and he's biting his bottom lip as though deep in thought. Scholle gently pulls his lip from between his teeth with a thumb and rubs it gently, Till darts his tongue out and licks at him. 

"God, I want to get you off." He says in a low voice that sends all of Scholle's blood flooding southwards. His hand drifts from Scholle's hip to his front and his warm palm presses against Scholle's dick through his clothes.

Scholle doesn't think he's ever agreed to anything so readily in all his life. He meets Till's dark eyes and nods. 

-

Till's breath hitches when Scholle whines, low and needy, pushing his hips forwards, his dick pressing into Till's palm. He hooks his arms around Till's neck and kisses him roughly. Till lets him, lets him map out his teeth and his tongue while Till fumbles with the button on Scholle's pants. When it gives, he frustratedly shoves them down along with his underwear and finally, blessedly gets his hand on Scholle's cock. It's warm and heavy in his hand as he strokes it firmly while his other hand grasps a handful of blonde locks. He tugs Scholle's head back and licks a hot stripe up the column of his throat, tasting sweat and the spice of aftershave. 

"Oh fuck." Scholle whispers as Till bites the underside of his jaw. "Fuck, Till." 

His hands grab at the back of Till's shirt, looking for something to hold onto. Till trails his tongue over rough stubble and up to Scholle's ear, tugging his earlobe between his teeth. Scholle shudders and groans, pushing his hips forwards and his dick up into Till's hand. Till tightens his grip and speeds up the motion of his wrist, determined to see him come undone. 

When it happens, he's beautiful. Shaking and moaning in Till's arms, eyes rolling and fingers clutching so tightly at Till's shirt he bursts a stitch or two. Till doesn't care, just keeps stroking him until over stimulation makes him squirm away. His knees buckle and Till has to stop him stumbling, for the second time that night. 

"Fuck." He breathes shakily, leaning his forehead into Till's shoulder, as Till traces patterns on his back to calm him down. He can feel Scholle's heart racing under his hands, his lungs drawing in gulps of air. Till thinks he might love him like this, pliant and trembling against him. He shakes his head and surreptitiously wipes his hand on Scholle's shirt. The other man stiffens.

"I'm taking one of your shirts." He grumbles. 

Till chuckles, a little smug. "Fine, you're welcome to it." 

Scholle looks up at him then, a sparkle in his eyes that makes Till's belly flip. He watches, a little stunned as he drops to his knees on Till's kitchen floor. "You don't have to…" he starts trying to say, but Scholle smacks him on the thigh.

"Shut up, Till. Who turns this down?" He says as he frees Till's cock from the confines of his clothes then wastes no time, sinking his mouth down and taking it all the way in. Till watches him, if anything he's even more beautiful, eyes closed, face flushed and mouth wrapped around Till's cock. His hand creeps up Till's bare thigh to tease between his legs and Till swears under his breath. Fuck, he's good at this. He hollows his cheeks and bobs his head rhythmically, humming low in his throat. Till grunts and grips his blonde hair, a little harder than intended. Scholle scrapes his fingernails back down Till's thigh in revenge. The sharp pain of it sends Till hurtling towards the edge.

"Scholle," he gasps. "I'm gonna.. "

Scholle opens his eyes then and looks up, meeting his gaze, a grin playing on his stretched lips. Till's done, he comes hard with Scholle's name on his tongue, watching his throat convulsing as he swallows down every drop. 

"Fuck me." Till exclaims breathlessly, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face. Scholle stands then, inches away and grinning. 

"Maybe later." He says in a tone laced with promise before kissing Till filthily, he can taste himself in Scholle's mouth. 

"Come to bed with me." Till begs when they separate. 

Scholle just smiles serenely and lets Till drag him out of the kitchen. 


	2. Saturday: Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut! Nyarisu, enjoy >.>

Sunshine streams through a crack in the curtains, Till sluggishly lifts a hand to block it so it doesn't hurt his eyes. Or he tries to, his hand and arm are trapped underneath whoever else is sharing his bed. A glance to the side and all of last night comes flooding back to him, making him smile sleepily. Scholle's still asleep next to him, snoring softly, the bruise on his eye and cheek dark against the pale of his skin. Till lifts the hand that isn't trapped and shifts a lock of Scholle's hair away from his face so he can see the bruising more clearly, it looks a little scary but he suspects Scholle might like that. 

He tries to wiggle his arm out from underneath the other man without waking him. His eyelids twitch and Till stills, watching as they flutter open and blue eyes struggle to focus. There's a flash of confusion as Scholle appears to try and remember where he is, but then he does focus in on Till and he smiles.

"Good morning." Till smiles back, freeing his arm now that Scholle is awake. 

"Morning." Scholle mumbles blearily. "Give me a minute and I'll get going." He sits up slowly and stretches his bare arms into the morning air.

Till frowns. "Stay." He says, a hint of a demand in his voice. He knows it's a little unreasonable but he's not quite ready to let Scholle go yet. 

Scholle turns to face him, a confused look on his face. "That's not how this usually works." 

Till rolls his eyes and stretches the full length of his body, not missing the way Scholle looks him up and down. "I didn't think you were the type to do something just because it's 'the way it works.'"

Scholle shoves him in the side petulantly, his features set in a scowl. "Shut the fuck up. One night stand, ever heard of them?" 

Till settles his hands behind his head on the pillow. "Of course I have, but I've got the house to myself all weekend. Might as well make the most of it." 

Scholle doesn't reply for a couple of minutes, clearly thinking about it. Till is content to wait and closes his eyes again, so that he can only feel the moment when Scholle gives in and flops back onto the bed beside him. He opens one eye and finds Scholle watching him curiously. 

"You want me to stay?" He asks, sounding unsure in a way that tugs at something in Till's chest. He rolls onto his side to face Scholle properly.

"If you want to. If you've got somewhere else to be…" he tails off when Scholle shakes his head. "Alright then, stay."

Scholle smiles at him softly then. "You're a strange one." He says quietly.

Till shrugs the shoulder he isn't lying on nonchalantly. "And yet you fucked me anyway." He wriggles a little at the memory.

Scholle laughs at that. "There's no accounting for taste is there?" He grins at Till cheekily, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Till drops onto his back again. "I was going to offer you coffee and breakfast but now I'm not so sure." 

Scholle scrambles over and props himself up on an elbow beside Till, hovering over him so that his dreads hang down and frame his face. He's pouting a little. "I'm sorry." 

Till makes a show of thinking about it, much to Scholle's apparent chagrin. He balances on Till's chest with his forearm and attempts to coax him with a kiss. He tastes a little bit like morning breath but Till doesn't mind, it's gentle and soft and warm. Till feels a little manipulated. 

"Alright, alright." He says anyway, pushing Scholle off him. The other man smirks triumphantly and lounges back on the bed, his uncertainty now replaced by cockiness. Till throws the bedsheets off himself and over Scholle's head, making him laugh delightedly. He drags himself up and out of the room, his hunger winning out over his desire to stay in bed. 

-

Scholle pulls the bedsheets away from his face and watches Till's naked back disappear through the bedroom door. He listens to him plodding off to the kitchen, before getting up himself and finding Till's bathroom.

In the mirror he inspects his black eye with a grimace, it's a little tender still but nothing he hasn't dealt with before. He frowns at himself, finding himself wondering why he agreed to stay, he doesn't typically hang around after one night stands but something about Till makes him want to stay as long as possible. Something that has nothing to do with the incredible sex. A shudder ripples through him as he remembers the previous night. If staying a little while longer results in more of that, then it'll be worth it. 

He's about to go and burrow himself back under Till's bedsheets when he hears it. A deep silky voice singing some soft rock song drifts from the kitchen, stopping him in his tracks. He stares in the direction it's coming from, it can't possibly be Till. 

It is Till, he discovers when he creeps to the kitchen in a stolen shirt and yesterday's boxers. He's singing whilst making coffee and Scholle can't help but stare. Till turns towards the cupboard to retrieve mugs and jumps when he spots Scholle.

"Fuck!" He yelps. "Don't do that!" 

Scholle waves in a vaguely apologetic manner. "Never mind that, where did that voice come from?" 

He watches with growing incredulity as Till seems to shrink self-consciously. "Sorry." He says, "if it was bothering you."

Bothering him, _bothering him?_ Scholle shakes his head vehemently, crossing the kitchen to curl his hands round Till's firm biceps and hold him still. "Till, your voice is amazing. Don't you play drums? _Why_ do you play drums when you sound like that?" 

Till won't look at him, staring down at the floor. Scholle lets go of him, not wanting to make him uncomfortable in his own house, but he doesn't understand. He has no earthly idea why anyone with a voice like that would want to hide it away. He watches Till as he finishes off the coffee and puts various breakfast things on the table, all in silence. Scholle frowns.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He offers quietly, as he slides into a chair and reaches for a cup of coffee. It smells good and strong and he drinks deeply. 

Till shakes his head, his unstyled hair falling in his eyes. Scholle is struck with a strong urge to reach across the table and gently brush it back, but he resists.

"I like being at the back of the stage." Till explains, ripping a bit of bread apart with nervous energy. "I can hide there." 

Scholle stares at him over the top of his cup. This strange, utterly ridiculous creature who looks and sounds like he does, who apparently has terrible stage fright and needs to hide himself away and his heart aches for him. He makes up his mind there and then that he's going to coax Till into being exactly where he should be, at the front, charming crowds with that insane voice. 

"Have you never tried singing properly?" He asks gently, trying his best not to make Till feel worse. Till just shakes his head.

"It would be a bad idea." He replies a little shakily.

Scholle absolutely doesn't believe that. He lets it go for the moment though, he doesn't really want to be the cause of some sort of full blown panic attack over breakfast. 

-

Later, Till gathers the nerve to show Scholle what he does for a living. He expects him to laugh, most people do, but Scholle listens to him thoughtfully as though he's actually interested in the finer points of basket weaving. He's cute, curled up on the other end of Till's couch, twirling a reed through his fingers and watching intently as Till works. It calms him, seeing it come together in his hands. He tries to show Scholle how to twist the particular piece he's been holding into the handle, he goes at it with the same concentrated intensity as he did when he was on stage. Till finds it fascinating, along with the slight noise of anguish he makes when the handle comes out skewed. Till tells him it's perfect anyway and he gives him this disbelieving look. 

"It looks awful." Scholle grumbles, prodding at it. 

Till removes the basket from his grasp and puts it to the side. "Do you always expect things to be perfect the first time you try them?" 

Scholle tries to glare at him but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Do you?" He asks instead of answering the question. Till shrugs.

"No, the first one of these I made is a mess." 

He still has it though, he keeps his keys in it because he's fond of it. Scholle's looking at him as though he's just won an argument though and he raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I'm going to get you to sing, Till. Maybe it will be scary and terrible the first time, but it will get better." He says it with such sincerity Till almost believes him, his resolve crumbling the longer Scholle looks at him with such sincere belief. It's entirely unwarranted given that twenty four hours ago they had never spoken more than two words to each other in passing.

"You can try." He tells him.

"Is that a challenge?" Scholle asks with a grin. 

Till doesn't answer but he watches Scholle watching him. Challenge and defiance and sheer bloody minded belief are reflected back at him and Till is a little floored. He realises in a rush that he would follow this boy anywhere, if he asked him to jump Till would only ask how high. It's a lot to feel all at once and it's a little overwhelming, he closes his eyes against the concern creeping across Scholle's face unwilling to let him see this part of him just yet.

"Till?" Scholle asks quietly, putting a hand on Till's thigh. He's moved closer, close enough that his body heat permeates through Till's clothes. Close enough that if Till moves his arm just so he knows he'll find soft skin. 

"Come here." He murmurs softly, tugging Till into his arms and falling backwards. Till goes willingly, draping himself half over Scholle's prone form. "So worried." Scholle says, brushing his fingers through Till's hair. "What's the worst that could happen?" 

Till doesn't know how to answer that, or even if Scholle really wants to know, so he tries for a smile. "Could fall off the stage? Hard to do that when sitting behind drums."

Scholle looks up at him thoughtfully. "Unless you fall backwards?" 

That particular thought has never really occurred to Till before and it must show on his face because Scholle barks a laugh. "Jesus, Till, stop panicking." He twists the front most lock of Till's hair around his fingers, the pressure just enough to send a shudder down Till's spine. "Maybe I can take your mind off it?" He offers in a low voice and pulls Till down by the hair. 

-

He's got Till spread out on his back on his own bed, naked and trembling, his large hands clawing at the bed sheets for something to hold onto. His eyes are huge and glistening as he stares at Scholle with rapt attention. He's absolutely gorgeous and Scholle doesn't know how he's never really noticed him before. 

He leans down and kisses Till's belly, feels his muscles quiver underneath his skin. Scholle's got three fingers working in and out of him achingly slowly, he's been going at it for over half an hour and Till is desperate. He begs incoherently, sweet pleas tumbling from his bitten lips. Scholle slows down instead, removes all but his index finger and marvels at the way Till clenches fiercely around him and moans feverishly. 

Tears cling to his long lashes, unshed but when he blinks they spill over trailing down his scarred cheeks. For a heartbeat Scholle wonders if he's gone wrong, if he's hurting Till, but then he twists his hand just so and Till cries out in anguished ecstasy. 

He squirms, ramps up his begging, his pleading. Scholle can barely stand the anticipation himself, his cock throbs with every sweet word Till utters. He spits on his hand and strokes his neglected dick, Till's eyes focus and he gestures for Scholle to move closer. With a frown Scholle removes his fingers and follows Till's instruction. Guided by shaking hands he finds himself straddling Till's broad chest with his dick down Till's throat. 

His mouth is hot and wet and so fucking good. Scholle balances himself with a hand on the wall behind Till's bed so he can look down and just watch as those flushed pouting lips work his dick over. Till pulls away and looks up, leaving Scholle's length coated in his spit, he raises a questioning eyebrow. Scholle snaps out of his daze and shuffles backwards, returning to his position between Till's thighs. He pushes Till's legs until the other man bends them, and then he pushes them as far apart as Till can go. He's a pretty sight, all spread out and waiting for him, then Till makes a needy little noise of impatience and Scholle can't wait any longer. 

Balancing himself on one hand, he guides himself into Till's blazing hot body with a steady push of his hips. He watches for any signs of discomfort but Till's too far gone for it to be hurting, he groans low in his throat and throws his head back as Scholle pushes all the way in. 

"Fuck, _fuck!_ " Scholle gasps. His hips rest flush against Till who hooks his legs around Scholle's waist and urges him on with a dig of his heels into his lower back. 

Scholle backs out a few inches and rolls his hips forwards slowly, testing the water, wanting to make sure he's not hurting Till. He wants nothing more than to fuck and to claim but he holds back, not really wanting a one (or two now, he supposes) time thing anymore. 

Till has other ideas though and he growls at him to move, pushing his body down and pulling Scholle in with his legs. Scholle huffs through his nose and pauses for a minute, repositions his hands and then snaps his hips as hard as he can. Till moans triumphantly as Scholle finally gives him what he wants, his hands clutching at the pillows behind his head. 

Scholle pounds into him, his own chest heaving with exertion, his arms aching where he's propping himself up. Till dissolves into incoherent groaning and muttered swearing, his legs slipping on Scholle's sweaty skin as he tries to hold on. 

"Don't stop." He begs, as though Scholle ever could. 

His nerves are on fire as the pressure builds in his belly, Scholle doesn't think he can last much longer but he's determined to throw Till over the edge before him. He lifts his hand and curls his fingers around Till's leaking dick, stroking him in time with his thrusting. 

"Come on." He grunts, meeting Till's wide eyes. "Let go."

Till does so beautifully, painting his stomach with hot streaks of white, crying out into the heavy air of his bedroom. His body tightens as he does, pushing Scholle into the most intense orgasm he thinks he's ever felt. He squeezes his eyes shut and sees stars as he weakly rolls his hips, taking them both shakily through the aftershocks until his exhaustion wins out and he collapses on Till in a heap. 

-

Till can't breathe, or at least, he feels as though he can't. Scholle is heavy on him, but it's not just that that's robbing him of oxygen. He doesn't ever want Scholle to leave and it scares him, he buries a hand in his hair and squeezes him tightly. Scholle laughs breathlessly in his ear. 

"We'll stick together if you keep doing that."

Till snorts. "Too late for that I think." He can hear the hesitation in his own voice, not quite allowing himself to enjoy the afterglow. Scholle does too; he lifts himself up off Till grimacing at the sticky feeling before planting a gentle kiss on his lips. 

"Clearly my fucking was not enough to keep your mind off worrying." He says with a wry smile. Till feels terribly guilty, and squashes down his anxiety.

"Your fucking was fine." He tries to reassure, tugging a blonde lock fondly. 

"Excuse you." Scholle retorts, finally rolling off Till and flopping down next to him. "My fucking is more than fine." 

Till laughs, he can't help it, this man is ridiculous. "Of course, I'm sorry." He tangles his fingers with Scholle's and pulls his hand over so he can kiss his knuckles, greatly enjoying the flush on his pale features the gesture causes. 

Till smiles. "Join me in the shower?" He asks, then gathers his bravery. "Then maybe you can play me something to sing along to?" 

Scholle beams at him and nods enthusiastically. "Lead the way."


	3. Saturday: Part II

Till's got an old guitar propped up in a corner of his bedroom, Scholle picks it up and strums it experimentally whilst Till is occupied with retrieving beers. Scholle has learned in the last day or so that Till is an exceptional host. He had mentioned being thirsty just the once and Till had immediately bounded off to fetch him a drink.

The guitar needs tuning, it sounds a little ropey but not too terrible, he gets it back into tune with a few turns of the keys. Humming quietly, he loses himself in a tune and doesn't hear Till return. Doesn't even see him until Till sits beside him on the bed and kisses him softly on the cheek. Scholle looks sideways at him and sees a tiny little smile on his face as he silently watches Scholle's hands on the guitar. It suits him better than the melancholy he seems to carry around with him most of the time. 

He puts the guitar down carefully on the bed and takes the opened beer bottle offered to him. 

"What were you playing?" Till asks him after he's swallowed a mouthful. "I didn't recognise it." 

Scholle shrugs, it's just a riff he's been working on in his head for a while. He says as much and Till nods thoughtfully, sweeping a hand through his hair though it does nothing. Those strands at the front continue to fall in his eyes and catch on his eye lashes. Scholle shakes his head in fond amusement. 

"You should tie this back." He says thoughtfully, reaching over and pulling on a bit of brown hair, the way Till seems to like to do with his blond locks. Till shudders and Scholle is catapulted back to last night stood in Till's kitchen, dragging him into place by the hair. He really needs to remember to try it in more heated situations. 

For now though he puts his bottle down and strums a few chords of the song he caught Till singing earlier, in the hopes that it will inspire even just a few lines of the verse out of him. Till meets his eye and wordlessly, stubbornly refuses to play along. 

"Till, it's just us." Scholle says with a roll of his eyes. "I've seen your come face, how could you possibly still be embarrassed in front of me?" 

A startled laugh erupts from Till's throat, to which Scholle grins and raises his eyebrows meaningfully. Till shoves him in the side but catches him again before he can fully fall backwards. "Alright fine." He acquiesces, when he's returned Scholle to his sitting position. "Start playing again." 

Scholle does as he's told, sounding out a few chords as Till shifts a little. The sheer delight he feels when Till sings for him warms him from the inside out. He grins, completely unable to stop himself and when Till returns it, smiling around the words, Scholle is in heaven. 

-

Till sprawls lazily on his back, done with performing for Scholle for now, but content to let him play on. Music seems to be something he clings to, he comes alive when he's got a guitar in his hands. Though his soft playing right now is a far cry from the angry young man lighting up the stage the previous night. He seems at peace, and Till appreciates that. He lightly runs his fingers up and down Scholle's bare side, neither of them having got fully dressed yet from earlier. 

"Tickles." Scholle tells him with a hint of a laugh in his voice. Till gives him his best innocent face, eyelashes fluttering, it's an expression that's got him out of many a scrape before now but Scholle is not impressed. 

"Don't you dare." He warns though he's fighting off a smile so Till decides he doesn't mean it, and pounces, mindful of his guitar. Thankfully Scholle lets it slide to the floor with a clatter just before Till collides with him. They roll to the side and despite his bigger size, Till finds himself pinned beneath Scholle who smirks at him from his lofty position.

"I was a wrestler." He explains in response to Till's slightly puzzled expression. "So don't get any ideas."

His thighs squeeze Till's sides, emphasising his words and his hands trail down his bare chest, fingers catching on his dark body hair, separating it. Till inhales shakily and looks up at him, Scholle is stunning from here, haloed as he is by the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. He drifts lower, fingertips brushing over Till's least favourite part of himself. He isn't exactly fond of most of his body but that particular stripe stands out in more ways than one. Scholle looks like he wants to ask about it, frowning down as though he hasn't noticed it before, Till hopes he doesn't.

"What's this from?" Scholle asks, concern colouring his voice. 

Till sighs, no such luck for him then. "An old injury." He says, knowing full well he's being short in a way Scholle doesn't deserve. 

"Looks like you've been cut in half." Scholle murmurs, apparently not willing to let it go. Till really wishes he would, or that he could have the ability to just explain how uncomfortable he feels talking about it.

"That's a relatively accurate assessment." Till grumbles and shoves Scholle unceremoniously off him. He stands and reaches for his discarded shirt, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious. Scholle reaches out for him from the bed but Till avoids his grasp, yanking his shirt over his head. "I need a smoke." He mutters darkly and stomps downstairs, leaving Scholle looking puzzled in his bedroom. 

-

Scholle finds Till smoking in the workshop set up next to his house, perched on a workbench and looking miserable. He takes a minute to appreciate the space, the projects both half finished and complete, part of him can't help but think that Till is wasted here. But, he reminds himself, based on the confusing exchange that just took place, he apparently doesn't actually _know_ this person in the slightest. To all intents and purposes, he's still just someone Scholle went home with for an admittedly fantastic fuck (or two.) The fact that he stayed a bit longer than usual, or that he knows his music taste, or how likes his coffee, doesn't really change that. He wants to change that. 

He lights his own cigarette and sits himself on a stool opposite where Till is, it doesn't escape his notice that Till has positioned himself somewhere where he can't be boxed in and can get away if he needs to. It hurts something deep within him in a way it has no right doing. 

Scholle blows his smoke out above his head then looks at Till carefully. "I keep making you uncomfortable don't I?"

Till sighs at him, flicking ash into a glass ashtray that he moves within reach of Scholle without being asked to. "You do." He agrees with a shrug, it stings. 

"Do you want me to go?" Scholle asks, a little downcast and disappointed. 

Till surprises him by shaking his head. "I don't want you to go, that's probably the problem." 

That doesn't make sense to Scholle so he frowns, taps ash into the ashtray and waits for Till to explain himself. 

"I like you." Till confesses quietly. "Quite a lot, but we barely know each other and I worry that you won't want to see me again after this weekend if you do get to know me." 

That still doesn't make any kind of sense to Scholle, even though his heart stumbles over Till wanting to see him again. "So instead of letting me in, you literally push me away, over a scar that I didn't even notice until I really looked?" 

Till puts out the end of his cigarette and lights another one. Scholle wants to tell him not to, he knows enough about singing to know that it's bad for that voice but he keeps his mouth shut. 

"I was supposed to be a swimmer." Till says, which makes Scholle's head snap up, completely at a loss as to what he's talking about. Till gestures vaguely towards the silvery stripe hidden away beneath his shirt.

"But then this happened, and I failed at it." Till says darkly, as though he actually believes that. Scholle scoffs.

"I don't know what happened, but an injury doesn't mean you failed, these things happen sometimes. You were obviously just meant for other things." 

Till makes a disbelieving noise but he doesn't argue which Scholle counts as a win for him. He doubles down. "Would you have had your kid if you had carried on with the swimming?" 

Till's eyes widen at the sudden question, the horror at that thought plain to see. "Probably not." 

"Well there you go then." Scholle says as though it's simple, because it is, at least it is to him. He hops off his stool and approaches Till, steals the cigarette from between his fingers and finishes it under Till's bemused gaze. "And presumably you wouldn't have been at my show, glaring at me like you were, which wouldn't have piqued my interest and we wouldn't have got into that fight and you wouldn't have got me here and into your bed like you did." He pauses and smiles cheekily, pushing his hand under Till's shirt, seeking out his warm skin. "So really this is a good thing." 

Till laughs then, Scholle appreciates the tightening of his muscles under his fingers. "Are you always this stubborn?" He asks, wrapping a leg around Scholle's thigh and pulling him closer. 

"Yep!" Scholle replies pleasantly, making Till laugh again. He slides his arms over Scholle's shoulders and rests them there, his hands playing with the ends of Scholle's hair. 

"Maybe we should actually get to know each other." Till says against his mouth before kissing him sweetly. "Outside of my 'come face' as you so delicately put it."

Scholle can feel him doing the air quotes behind his head and it makes him snort. "Alright but can we go back inside? It's getting cold out here." 

-

Till makes hot chocolate, it's a stash he keeps for his daughter but he figures if Scholle's cold he might appreciate it. He adds a splash of brandy for extra warmth. When he takes it to him, he finds him sitting cross legged on the sofa and looking at him with a curious gaze. His face turns grateful though when he wraps his hands around the cup and moans indecently when he takes a sip. Till rolls his eyes as he settles on the other end of the sofa, though it's more fond than anything. 

With a deep steadying breath, he pushes his battered notebook across the space between them. Usually it's hidden away, kept safely away from absolutely everyone. He figures though that it's best to just get it over with after all, if Scholle really wants to know what he's about, well, it's all in there. 

Scholle takes an achingly long time to read it all, his face switching emotions almost as often as he turns the page. Till fidgets with anything he can get his hands on, his drink is long finished so he twists his hair, picks at loose threads and scratches at his arms as he waits in agonising silence. When Scholle's finally done, he closes the book and puts it down almost reverently. Then he puts his empty cup next to it and crawls into Till's lap.

"Till." He says, between kisses laid feverishly against Till's nervously bitten lips. "You are wasted here, you are coming to the city with me and we're going to make music together. No arguments."

Till can't quite cope with the sincerity and belief just yet even though he very much wants to. "I hope that's a euphemism." He says instead, and licks a stripe up Scholle's neck. The other man squirms and laughs in his arms.

"Of course it is, we'll play all day and then fuck all night." He grins, and gives the tiniest little roll of his hips that makes Till's stomach flip and his dick twitch, the traitorous thing. He rests his hands on Scholle's thighs and swallows.

"Is that what you want?" He asks with a touch of hesitation, fully aware that their little get to know you session has turned into him completely baring his soul and Scholle just accepting it, which in itself knocks him a little off kilter. 

Scholle chuckles. "Sex and music? Why would I not want that? Don't you want that? Want more?" 

Does he? He would probably be content to live this life, make a bit of money, raise his daughter, fix things for anyone who comes asking. But does he want more? For a while now he's not really thought that more was possible, that he was destined for this quiet life and he lost every chance of _more_ when he tore himself in two. He doesn't know if he deserves it, but part of him wants to try for it anyway. _Scholle_ makes him want to try.

So he says yes with a level of determination he didn't know he was capable of. Scholle grins triumphantly and plants a kiss on his lips, hands framing his face gently but firmly enough to keep him there.

-

Scholle sighs dreamily and rocks forwards, his legs around Till's waist tightening as Till pushes upwards. They're wrapped in each other, moving slowly together on Till's old sofa. Till's thighs feel sturdy beneath him, and his hands flat on Scholle's back feel safe. He feels like he could let go and tumble and fall and Till would catch him and sweep him up into those arms currently cradling him close. 

His whole life has felt like one long sprint away from everything and towards something that has always seemed just inches out of his reach. He feels like Till could push him that extra step, with his strange and beautiful poetry and untrained but delicious voice. Visions of them conquering the whole world together stretch out before him, which is exciting and terrifying all at once. 

"Scholle." Till murmurs in a soft, low voice. It brings him back into the present, back down to earth into the feeling of Till filling him so completely. He kisses him, savouring the taste of his mouth and letting Till pull him even further down. 

"Fuck." He whispers against his lips, moaning softly when Till pushes upwards into him. He wraps his arms around Till's neck and lets him take over, lets himself be taken care of. And Till does take care of him. His hand on Scholle's cock is slow and deliberate, the movement of his hips seems designed only to drive Scholle to the point of ecstasy. He wraps a strong arm around Scholle's waist to anchor him in place and fucks him until Scholle's coming, hard and sudden over his hand, with a groan of Till's name falling from his lips. 

He feels Till follow him moments later, spilling hot and wet inside him and it's perfect, so ridiculously perfect. He barely registers Till falling backwards, shoving his legs gently out of the way and pulling Scholle down on top of him, mess be damned. 

Till nuzzles into his neck, mouthing at his sweaty skin. "If this sex and music vision of yours involves more of that then I'm fully on board." He tells him, out of breath and holding Scholle tightly. 

Scholle nods in agreement, utterly content to lay in his arms for the time being, his pleasant buzz overriding his need to clean up. "Write for me, sing for me and fuck me like that." He says, pressing a tired kiss to Till's jaw. "And I won't care what else happens." 

He feels Till's body contract as he huffs a laugh. "We'll drive each other crazy I'm sure." His fingers draw patterns on Scholle's damp back, causing goosebumps and shivers.

"Probably." Scholle agrees, shuddering a little against him. "Does it matter?"

Till stops teasing him and drops his head back against the arm of the sofa. He smiles up at Scholle, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. "I suppose not." He replies. 

Scholle moves to rest his head against Till's shoulder, fully fighting the need to shower because he feels safe and warm and happy. "Besides, if you really piss me off, I'll just tie you down and fuck you until you behave again." 

"For fuck's sake, Scholle." Till whines, scratching his blunt fingernails up Scholle's sides. "You can't just say things like that." 

"Why? Don't believe me?" Scholle asks with an upwards glance just in time to catch Till's throat convulse as he swallows.

"No, I fully believe you." Till replies in a low voice. If Scholle wasn't already so exhausted, it's a voice that would fully have him ready to go again, ready to hold him down and fuck him until he screams. It's a nice mental image that he tucks away for another time.

Till meanwhile shifts beneath him and the inevitable horrible sticky feeling makes them both groan unpleasantly. Wordlessly Scholle pushes himself up and away from Till, hauling the other man up by the arm as he goes. "Shower." He grunts, tensing as the evidence of their fucking begins to slowly trail down his thighs. "Right now." 

-

Much later, as he collapses into his bed, showered, fed and arms full of a pleasantly warm body, Till feels strange and for once it's a good kind of strange. It feels like floating and it feels like it could lead to tumbling head over heels. It feels like he might be there already. He isn't supposed to do this, he takes people home or he goes home with them, and then he forgets they exist the next morning. He doesn't want that with Scholle, he wants to take him up on his demand to follow him to the city, he wants to write songs with him, he wants to form a band with him. 

Scholle had floated the idea of forming a band over an evening meal of the last bit of Till's last hunt. He really needs to go out again, he thinks idly, but it can wait for another day. He isn't allowed to hide in this new band, Scholle had told him, he has to sing and he has to write. All terrifying and yet intriguing in a way he's never previously considered it could be. They need other people of course, but Scholle says he knows a bassist and might be able to convince a drummer which is probably enough for now. 

Scholle shifts in his arms, and Till squeezes him gently, feeling the pull of sleep start to drag him under. He watches Scholle in the darkness, or at least what he can see of him, he's going to have to leave tomorrow. Till knows that but he doesn't have it in him to be sad about it right now. He just lets himself drift away, lulled by the security of body heat and soft snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a nightmare this one was to write, it just did not want to cooperate. Thank you to everyone who has commented or left kudos so far, I love you all very much.


	4. Sunday

Scholle stands in the kitchen, dressed in a stolen pair of Till's boxers, and a stolen sweater because it's chilly. Till's in the shower still whilst Scholle is waiting for the water to boil so he can make coffee. He had tried to convince Scholle to join him, but to no avail, Scholle had very much needed caffeine. Till's singing now that he's not quite as worried about him hearing and Scholle smiles to himself and drifts off into a daydream about his new band idea.

He's still daydreaming when Till's front door slams open, the noise makes him startle and he catches his hand on the kettle. Swearing viciously he whirls around on the spot, tense and ready, and comes face to face with what he recognises as half of Feeling B, looking around like it's perfectly normal to just let themselves into someone else's house.

The shorter one, whom Scholle thinks is the guitarist, comes to a sudden halt and eyes him suspiciously. "Till!" He yells, not taking his eyes off Scholle, and making the other taller one flinch. "Someone's broken into your house!" 

Scholle balks and opens his mouth ready to defend himself when Till wanders into the kitchen in a pair of shorts and not much else despite the cool air, his hair and shoulders are still a little damp. Scholle's mouth goes a little dry. 

"You have broken into my house, brat, and not for the first time. What do you want?" Till grumbles, glaring at the intruders. His gaze hones in on the way Scholle is cradling his burned hand and immediately swoops over to inspect it. He holds Scholle's hand reverently in his larger ones and peers at the red patch that really isn't that bad, but Scholle can't deny that it feels nice to be fussed over.

"Food please." The guitarist pouts in the meantime, breaking them out of their bubble. "And you need to look at the keyboard, it's making a weird noise."

Scholle blinks at Till, mystified, Till responds with an apologetic shrug. "Paul, Flake." He says in a bored tone of voice, gesturing vaguely at them. "Meet Scholle." He finishes, pointing at Scholle, he already knew who they were of course but he doesn't want to be rude.

"You're in Orgasm Death Whatever right?" Paul asks. "What are you doing here?" There is a beat of silence and then his eyes become comically wide as he looks between the two of them and their states of undress. "Wait, did you fuck?" 

At this point Flake perks up from where he's been drawing random patterns on Till's kitchen table with his index finger. He watches them with poorly concealed interest. Till doesn't react, he just folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at Paul, a look Scholle has come to recognise is his exasperated face. "Do you want feeding or not?" Till asks. Paul mimes zipping his mouth shut.

Till smiles apologetically at Scholle. "Sorry, they do this sometimes." 

Scholle frowns back. "Break into your house and demand food?" 

Till shrugs and goes to stand next to him at the counter, nudging him with his hip. He runs the cold water and gestures for Scholle to hold his burned hand under it. "Unfortunately yes." 

Scholle looks at Till, who watches him back with gentle concern and amusement glimmering in his eyes. Scholle can't help but smile back at him a little stupidly. 

"We're still here you know." Paul pipes up. "God, did you fuck last night or elope? And what's with the black eye?"

-

Till huffs, he doesn't know why he expected Paul to not have anything further to say on the matter. He eyes Scholle and his pinkish hand, it's probably not too bad but he feels a desperate desire to take care of him, tiny burn or not. Paul is still watching them suspiciously. Till isn't sure he trusts the look in Scholle's eyes.

"We got into a fight then we fucked." Scholle says with a challenging grin, proving Till's misgivings to be entirely correct. "Not just last night either." He winks at Till who finds himself unable to resist joining in, swept up in a giddy sort of glee just from the way Scholle is looking at him.

"Yesterday morning too." He adds helpfully.

"And Friday night." Scholle continues, turning to face Paul and Flake with a certain menace in his expression.

"Twice on Friday." Till reminds him, dropping coffee cups in front of his guests, ever the dutiful host. Paul looks like he's beginning to regret asking.

"Are we counting what we did in here?" Scholle asks with faux innocence as he pours his coffee, leaning against Till's kitchen counter in Till's sweater looking very much like he belongs there. Till wants to keep him here.

"The big questions." Till says as sagely as he can manage once he fights down the scary feeling of domesticity. "Are blowjobs fucking or just foreplay?" 

"Alright, alright! I get it, please stop!" Paul begs, Flake looks a little green. 

Till grins at him, feeling pleased with himself. The look of approval he's receiving from Scholle helps. He puts the coffee pot on the table and gestures for them to help themselves. "Stop, he says. As though you two haven't subjected me to worse." 

Paul snorts at that and dumps sugar in his cup. "It's not our fault you didn't knock." 

Till supposes that he has a point there and reaches over to ruffle Paul's hair, causing the other man to grumble at him and swat at his hand. Till snorts and pulls a bit of ponytail before retracting his hand. "Serves you right, you little exhibitionist. You know where my food is." He tells his interlopers. "Help yourselves, we apparently need to get dressed." 

-

The bedroom door clicks shut and Till rubs the back of his neck self consciously. "I'm sorry." He says. "About them, they just invite themselves over when they've got nothing better to do." 

Scholle shakes his head and smiles, folding his arms across the soft fabric of his stolen sweater. It's too big on him but it's warm and comfortable and it smells like Till. "You have a habit of collecting strays it seems." 

Till returns his smile a little sheepishly. "Sorry?" He says again, and Scholle rolls his eyes. 

"You could have worse habits I suppose." 

They dress in comfortable silence after that, Scholle's jeans are filthy from rolling around on the floor on Friday night and they smell of beer and blood. Till seems to notice his disgust and wordlessly throws more clothes at him. He ends up dressed head to toe in Till's things and it should be faintly embarrassing but it's just _nice._ He can't remember a time when he last felt this comfortable, not so much physically (though the sweater is so very soft) but emotionally. Till just makes space for him, moves around him but in a way where he fits rather than being an obstacle or a nuisance. Scholle straightens up and watches as Till tugs a t-shirt over his head, fluffing up his shower fresh hair in the most adorable manner. Fuck. He's fucked. He's falling in love with a one night stand, though even he knows it can hardly be called that at this point.

Till is frowning at him, his distress must be written across his face. "Scholle?" He asks softly, looking nervous and a bit lost in his own bedroom. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Scholle breathes out, too shakily to be able to pass off that he's fine. "Light-headed." He mumbles and hates himself for the worry that clouds Till's expression almost immediately. "Just need a minute." He continues, sitting himself down heavily on the edge of Till's bed. He spots his discarded shirt, his keys, his shoes, his fucking underwear and his heart hammers in his chest. Till kneels in front of him and puts a warm hand on his cheek.

"You're alright." He murmurs, all tenderness and care. His other hand grasps Scholle's uninjured one and Scholle can't help it, he intertwines their fingers stubbornly. He can't tell if he imagines the split second smile that flits across Till's face but he doesn't imagine the way he leans in and kisses him softly. Scholle wants to fall backwards and pull him under the bed covers and never let him go.

Unfortunately a loud crash puts a stop to that idea and he's amused by the long suffering way Till sighs and gets to his feet. "Take as long as you need." He says, then hurriedly disappears as the sounds of arguing intensify. 

-

It's just a dropped plate which Till doesn't mind, these things happen, though he shoos Paul away from trying to pick up bits with his fingers. He sends them both to the couch whilst he cleans up but tells them they might want to pull a blanket down over the cushions with a smirk. Flake looks particularly disgusted and chooses to sit on the floor in front of the couch instead. 

When Till joins them and scoops up a keyboard that looks like it's been dropped, they both give him a look. "What?" He asks suspiciously, fingers flexing around the plastic in his hands for something to hold onto. 

"Who's that?" Flake asks, peering up at him from the floor. 

"You know who that is, you've seen his band." Till shrugs nonchalantly, he presses random keys on the keyboard and winces at the noise it makes.

"Well why is he here?" Paul asks, reaching over and flicking the keyboard off to remove Till's distraction. "And why are you both banged up?" 

Till scowls at the sudden questioning. "We got into a fight at your show, I invited him back, we fucked. Is that alright with you?" He pauses, then it clicks as to why they're looking at him like that. "A fight with other people." He clarifies. It's sweet really, the way they both deflate with visible relief. 

"We were ready to fight him for you." Paul says, bumping their shoulders together conspiratorially. "Flake was so annoyed about it he dropped your plate." 

Till raises an eyebrow at Flake who merely shrugs as though that's perfectly normal. "Can you fix that now?" He asks, pointing at the keyboard. He reaches up and flicks it on again, then presses an incomprehensible sequence of buttons. The keyboard screeches horribly. 

"What the fuck did you do to it?" Till demands when the noise subsides. He reaches for a screwdriver left abandoned on a shelf and begins to pry the back off it. 

"Probably got a drink spilled on it." Flake replies and kneels to get a better look at what Till's doing. "Maybe knocked it over." 

Till's about to call him an idiot but at that point, Scholle reappears looking much better than he did when he was trembling and pale on the edge of the bed. Till smiles at him and is warmed when Scholle smiles back. Fuck, he looks good in Till's clothes. He looks settled and cosy, in stark contrast to the wild and flighty boy Till brought home on Friday. 

He knows he feels things too deeply and quickly, and inevitably ends up getting hurt but he thinks he could fall in love with Scholle standing there in his too big sweater.

Scholle's skin flushes under Till's gaze and he escapes, claiming to need a drink. Till smiles to himself and reluctantly returns his attention to the task at hand. He barely notices Paul scurrying after Scholle.

-

Scholle stands at the door smoking, listening to the noise of Flake and Till arguing over how best to mend a broken keyboard. It's started to rain and it's comforting and he can breathe for a minute, the irony of having a smoke so he can breathe not entirely lost on him. He hears footsteps approach and when he looks over his shoulder, he finds Paul watching him, still a little suspiciously like he's still not convinced Scholle didn't just break in.

"What are you doing here?" Paul asks him with a frown. 

Scholle blinks in confusion and waves his cigarette around. "Smoking?" 

"Wow thanks, genius." Paul rolls his eyes and holds his hand out. "Give me one."

Scholle glares for a minute at the demand, but hands his pack over anyway to keep the peace, along with a lighter. He watches curiously as Paul lights one and waits for whatever it is that he apparently wants to say. 

"What are you doing _here?_ Paul continues after a couple of minutes. "At Till's?" 

Scholle frowns and taps ash from his cigarette onto the ground outside the door. "What's it got to do with you?" A beat, then, "Jealous?"

Paul splutters and glares at him. "No! I'm just wondering what you're doing with him." 

Hopelessly confused now, Scholle drops the end of his cigarette onto the wet ground and turns to face Paul. "Well when two people like each other very much…" 

"Fuck off, man. You know what I'm getting at." Paul snaps, with the menace of a particularly angry terrier. Somewhere in Scholle's mystified mind, something slides into place.

"Are you trying to give me the shovel talk?" He asks, trying not to laugh, whilst Paul turns bright red. "I promise to be nice to him, does that help?" 

"Alright fine, I'm shit at this anyway." Paul sighs, though he's smiling now. He blows smoke at Scholle. "Wanna jam sometime? I've seen you play and I suppose you're alright." 

Scholle laughs at that, feeling a lot less tense than he did five minutes ago. He rolls his eyes. "Such high praise." 

Paul grins at him and Scholle thinks if they had drinks in their hands they'd toast like old friends. As it happens that's when Till chooses to reappear looking frazzled, he walks straight to his alcohol stash and swallows a shot straight from the bottle. "I'm not fixing any more of your keyboards." He grumbles and wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. 

"Yeah you will." Paul replies smugly. Till glares at him balefully. 

"What are you two looking so pleased about?" He rumbles. Scholle is struck with a strong desire to go and hug him, stroke over his folded bare arms, make him _smile._

Paul clears his throat and glances at Scholle, who tears his eyes from Till and raises an eyebrow. "Paul was threatening me, apparently I'm not allowed to hurt you." Scholle says blandly, Paul squawks in protest, Till snorts.

"Well." He says, with hooded eyes and a slow lick across his lower lip. "I think we both know it depends on what you mean by hurt." His smile is _filthy._ Scholle's blood runs hotter, quicker, his skin tingling. Paul groans.

"You two are going to be insufferable." He says cryptically before fleeing the room, leaving them blessedly alone. Scholle feels like he's floating as he crosses the floor and into Till's now open arms. Till kisses him, wasting no time as he pries his mouth open with his tongue. His hands feel possessive on Scholle's waist and it makes Scholle want to be closer, to crawl inside. He plasters himself fully against the strong line of Till's body.

"Get rid of them." He purrs, _pleads._

Till smiles beatifically. "Anything you want."

-

Scholle pushes into him with what now feels like practised ease. Till's body barely registers any discomfort as he fits snugly against his back, bent over with his arms wrapped around Till's waist. He shuffles his legs apart an inch or two to make it easier, the movement drawing a soft grunt from Scholle and a tightening of the arms around him. 

He'd sent Paul and Flake away with a promise to fix the keyboard and to help them set up for as many shows as they want if they would please just leave right now. They'd gone with matching smirks and increasingly lewd sex tips until Scholle had slammed the door on them and pushed Till down over the arm of his couch. 

He'd dropped to his knees and set about opening Till up with his tongue, licking into him in the best possible way. Till had trembled and whimpered and cursed his way through a blinding orgasm, leaving him pliant and boneless and Scholle now slowly sliding out of him feels almost too much. And yet he wants more, needs more than the achingly slow drag Scholle is subjecting him to.

He props himself up on his hands and lifts his head to speak but a strong hand gripping into his hair pushes him back down to his elbows. He goes willingly, resting his head on his forearms, unable to do much else but take it.

Scholle groans behind him, Till can feel the strain in his body, struggling to keep himself to the slow pace he's set. His free hand slides from Till's stomach to clutch at his hip, fingernails leaving grooves in his skin. He feels so much all at once, he's overwhelmed with the heady fog of need in his brain.

"More." He begs into his own skin. "Please."

Scholle pauses, he's buried as far as he can go and Till squirms, unable to get comfortable in his bent over position. The hand on his hip strokes soothingly over his skin, soft kisses trail up his spine and over his shoulder blades. It calms him, and he settles as best he can though his body twitches around Scholle's dick. 

When Scholle moves again, it's a little faster, a little harder, as he stops trying to control himself. His hand in Till's hair tightens and holds him down, and it's everything Till has ever wanted. He moans helplessly, gripping the couch cushions as Scholle groans his name feverishly and comes, hot and sudden, impossibly deep inside him. 

After a long, heated moment Scholle lets go of him and collapses against his back, breathing like he's just run a marathon. Till's quaking legs are the only thing stopping them from crashing to the floor, and he's not sure how long he can hold out. Before his knees completely give up though, Scholle slides out of him and the feeling of his warm body is immediately replaced by cotton, presumably discarded clothing, cleaning him up. Till's face grows hot at the impossibly tender gesture and he wants to wriggle away but a hand on the small of his back and a fond command to hold still keeps him in place.

When Scholle's done, he sinks to the floor and pulls Till down with him until they're sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the couch. Till reaches for a nearby pack of cigarettes and lights one up, taking a drag before passing it to Scholle. He watches the bliss on his face, the post sex haze combining with the nicotine rush. He feels a confusing kind of possessiveness, the idea of Scholle ever fucking anyone else doing something unpleasant to his stomach. 

Scholle gives him the cigarette back and leans his head on Till's shoulder. "When do you want me to go?" He asks in a quiet voice, his fingers playing with the hair on Till's thigh. 

_Never,_ Till thinks, _stay with me._ But he can't say that so instead he shrugs lightly, careful not to dislodge the other man from his shoulder. "Whenever you want, I can give you a lift if you need." 

In response Scholle angles his head up and tugs Till down so he can kiss him desperately. It feels like a goodbye kind of kiss. "We're not done, right?" He whispers and Till's heart skips. 

"What do you mean?" He has to ask, has to be sure.

"Music and sex, remember? You promised." Scholle replies with a smile. 

"Ah that." Till says, as he puts the cigarette out. "It does sound good."

"It sounds great." Scholle corrects and begins to drag clothes closer in an effort to start getting dressed again. "Can I keep this?" He asks with a bold look in his eye as he shimmies into Till's sweater without waiting for an answer. 

"It's yours." Till tells him and if he wasn't convinced by anything else that has happened this weekend, Scholle's pleased, bashful smile as he nuzzles into the collar of the sweater seals it for him definitively. 

_I could love you._ He thinks and it isn't the least bit frightening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not leaving it here, it's too unsatisfying for me, so there will be a final (final) part. Sorry, it just keeps growing. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with it, I love you <3


	5. Later

_"You two are going to be completely insufferable."_

They argue, over something and nothing, and it's uglier than perhaps they were ready for. Till stands his ground at first whilst Scholle rants at him but Till can only go so far and then he shuts down so Scholle tells him to fuck off and leave him alone if he's going to be like that. He doesn't mean it in the slightest and he regrets it the second the words leave his mouth. Those lovely green eyes that usually look at him with such open fondness now seem so distant all of a sudden. All over a stupid minor argument that has blown out of all proportion because they haven't really learned to talk to each other yet.

"Till." He says, far calmer and with an outstretched hand but Till moves away, literally steps back and away from Scholle and it's oddly painful. He says he needs a minute, turns on his heel and flees, grabbing his cigarettes and jacket on the way. 

The door slams shut and Scholle groans, slumping down in his chair, his guitar slides off his lap and he only thinks to catch it at the last minute. The desire to play completely gone, he lays it flat across his lap and stares at it. It gives him no answers or comfort so he puts it down and decides to go and find Till before a stupid argument becomes too serious. He barges through the back-door of the rehearsal space and finds Till, sitting on a wall and smoking. He's watching him warily, as though he considers him a predator to be afraid of. Scholle sighs. 

"Well at least we can tick the first fight box now." He says lightly, hoping that it's the right direction to go in. He rather thinks Till might need the breathing space that levity offers. He's right, Till half smiles at him.

"True. And it wasn't actually so bad." He beckons Scholle over with a jerk of his head, holding his pack of cigarettes out to him. 

Scholle settles next to him, close enough to share body heat. He takes a cigarette from the pack and fishes Till's lighter out of his jacket pocket. He has his own of course but, well, any excuse to touch Till. 

"It wasn't?" He asks when he's taken a couple of steadying drags. His hand is shaking inexplicably. 

"No." Till tells him and nudges him with a sturdy thigh. "Not even top three." He's smiling fully now, and Scholle lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. 

"Not even top three?" He asks and puts his smoke out on the wall. "Now you have to tell me about my competition."

Till laughs and it's so much better than his miserable silence. As he talks Scholle learns that despite being rather handy in a fist fight, Till is incredibly conflict averse. Scholle is all too painfully aware that it's unavoidable but he makes a silent promise to himself that he's always going to have Till's back, no matter what. 

When Till's run out of steam and another couple of cigarettes have been smoked, Scholle surreptitiously squeezes Till's hand. Till squeezes back. "We should still talk." He says, in reference to their earlier disagreement.

Scholle hums. "Let's go back inside." He replies, choosing not to address it for now. He doesn't have the energy to keep fighting and he still wants to convince Till to lend his words to a few more riffs. Till looks hesitant.

"Later, alright?" Scholle says with a smile that he hopes doesn't look too forced. Till doesn't seem to notice though, because he nods and follows Scholle inside without another word.

-

Till's notebook lies open on his lap, he had spent over an hour debating whether to bring it with him when Scholle had finally invited him to the music part of their music and sex arrangement. He's still not entirely sure that he wanted his scribbles to become songs but Scholle had looked at him with pleading eyes and played him a riff that he insisted would go well with a particular poem. And suddenly they've almost written a song together. 

It makes him want to care about rhyme and structure and meaning even more than he did previously and so he scribbles, crossing things out and reworking them with a level of enthusiasm he knows he didn't have before he met Scholle. 

In the time that they've known each other, music has seemed less unattainable, less like it's something for other people. It feels like he genuinely doesn't have to spend his life in his workshop, this could be his life. It could be rehearsal spaces, and writing songs and Scholle looking at him like that. Like he's excited to see what Till's brain will produce next. 

He jumps slightly when a cool hand slides over his arm, stopping him in his tracks mid sentence. He glances up and Scholle is so close, grinning at him with heat in his eyes. 

"Can I help you?" He gets out as nonchalantly as he can, which only serves to widen Scholle's grin. His cool and calloused fingers wrap around Till's wrist and drag his hand away from his notebook, forcing him to drop his pen. With a slow smile he places Till's palm flat between his own legs, Till can feel his dick, already hard and straining in his pants.

"Need me to help you with that?" Till asks, pressing down with his hand. Scholle's breath hitches, Till can feel him flexing his thigh muscles in anticipation. 

"Door's locked." Scholle breathes, covering Till's hand with his own. Till looks at him and takes in his prettily blushing cheeks, and widening eyes. He trusts him when he says that it's locked and he leans in to kiss him. 

Scholle responds immediately, pushing his body upwards towards Till and kissing him back with fervour. He tangles his fingers into Till's hair, his blunt nails scraping along his scalp and Till doesn't purr but it's a very close thing. He licks into Scholle's mouth, tasting the smoke on his tongue with the barest hint of bitter coffee. It makes his head spin in the already dizzying heat of the room. 

Till props himself up on one hand and with his other he tugs at Scholle pants until he gets them open and down. He shoves his hand into Scholle's underwear and he isn't sure who moans first when he closes his fingers around Scholle's leaking cock. 

"Till." Scholle half groans, half whispers into his mouth. With his hands still gripping Till's hair he pushes him downwards just a fraction, Till flicks his gaze up to take in Scholle's pleading face and immediately knows what he wants. Heat pools in his belly as he hurries to comply. He makes a confused motion of trying to shove Scholle away to give himself the space, and trying to drag him closer at the same time. Scholle catches on though and shifts himself over, shoving his clothes out of the way as he goes. 

Till pushes his thighs apart and sinks his mouth onto Scholle's cock without much further thought, all rationality in his brain replaced by static and the sound and taste of _Scholle._

Long fingers find their way back into his hair, then drift down to stroke his cheek almost reverently. He can only feel the featherlight touch as he closes his eyes and focuses entirely on the man who seems to be surrounding him. Scholle's chest heaves, his legs tremble and Till is merciless, focussed only on making Scholle fall apart.

He doesn't last long and he comes with an almost melodic moan of Till's name and a quaking, upward thrust of his hips. Till swallows before he withdraws, Scholle's breathy swearing as he does so makes him smile. "Fuck. It's like you were made for that."

Till tries not to blush as Scholle runs a thumb along his lower lip. He seems to consider something for a moment, thoughts dancing behind his eyes, then quite suddenly he hauls Till in for a kiss that can only be described as bruising. He shoves his tongue into Till's mouth and goes after his own taste with a ruthlessness that has Till moaning helplessly. He feels Scholle grin whilst a wandering hand make its way into his pants, he gives into it completely.

-

Later, when he and Till have run laughing from the building after they were chased out by some nameless (and talentless, Scholle thinks privately) band who thought they took up the space for far too long, Scholle shoves his belongings into the back of Till's beat up car. 

"Let's go somewhere." He says, shoving Till towards the driver's side. 

"Where do you want to go?" Till asks, bemused as he opens the door.

"Anywhere, you like it outdoors, take me somewhere nice."

Till rolls his eyes but he looks fond and he gestures for Scholle to get in. They end up somewhere that Scholle only half recognises from years ago, but it's peaceful and Till looks so ridiculously at home laid out in the grass, his hands crossed behind his head. Scholle sits cross legged next to him and picks blades of grass that he scatters to the wind every now and again. 

He's content and that's a strange feeling. In the past weeks he's come to accept that Till has taken up residence in his heart, even if he still feels ridiculous when he thinks about it. He loves Till, sure, but alongside that he has become his best and closest friend. They have been inseparable, either at Till's house or repaying the favour and annoying Paul and Flake in the city. Till turns up to his band's shows, helping him carry all his things and putting amp stacks together with quiet ease. He then watches from the back of the room and Scholle performs for _him_ and only him. 

He listens when Till gives his opinion on the show, usually entirely positive but he's also bold enough to tell him if he doesn't like something which Scholle appreciates. Till makes him better, a better musician, a happier person. 

He smiles down at the man next to him who has both eyes closed, lying there just enjoying the company and the quiet. Scholle can't help himself, he leans down and kisses Till gently on the mouth, drawing the softest noise of surprise from him. He cracks open one eye and regards Scholle like some lazy old tom cat.

"Hello." He murmurs.

"Hello yourself" Scholle says in response, or tries to say. What actually comes out sounds a lot like "I love you." 

The air seems to still, no breeze, no birds just Scholle's heart hammering so wildly he's sure Till must be able to hear it. Till who now has both eyes open and is staring at him in something that looks like wonder but can't possibly be. Scholle shreds more blades of grass between his nervous fingers, unable to meet Till's wide eyes. He would sell his soul for something to break the silence, something that won't put him at risk of embarrassment at best, heartbreak at worst. 

Till touches his leg. "Say it again."

Scholle does as he's told in a rush of outward breath and Till pulls him down into his arms and kisses him. When he says it back it's quiet and honest and Scholle smiles wider than he thinks he's ever managed before.

-

Till drives them back to his house that night, feeling like he's flying. Things like this don't happen to people like him. Beautiful boys who happen to be local rock stars don't tell people like him that they love them, they don't sit stock still in total fear of rejection and they don't melt when people like him say it back. And yet here he is, driving back to his house, listening to the soft noise of Scholle (who loves him) shifting restlessly in the passenger seat. 

"Nearly there." Till chuckles when he grumbles and shifts for the tenth time in five minutes. 

Scholle looks sidelong at him like a child that's been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He smiles sheepishly almost to himself and settles himself down with his hands wedged under his thighs. "Sorry." He says. "Nervous." 

Till frowns and glances towards the man in the passenger seat and finds him staring right back at him. "Why nervous?" He asks as he returns his attention to the road.

"I love you." Scholle says quietly as though that explains everything even though it explains absolutely nothing. 

"But why nervous?" Till asks again when it becomes clear that Scholle is not about to explain himself.

"Relationship fucking is different to regular fucking." Scholle says and it's all Till can do to not drive them off the road. 

"Says who?" He asks shakily, his hands clutching the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles feel like they might burst from his skin. 

Scholle doesn't reply for a while and Till can feel his gaze, it feels like he can see through him, all the way to his soul. "Till?" He asks eventually and he sounds incredibly sad, Till doesn't want him to be sad. The idea of a relationship terrifies him but he's known for a while now that for Scholle he'll do anything.

"I love you too." He says firmly. "Relationship fucking will be fine, I'll show you." He reaches over and blindly squeezes a thigh in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. He's rewarded with Scholle tangling their fingers together and stubbornly holding on for as long as he can. 

-

Relationship fucking, as it turns out, is absolutely fine when it's with Till. It's more than fine, it's incredible and it's the same and it's new and it's exciting all at once.

Till still squirms at the first cold touch of his slicked up fingers, it still makes him smile and roll his eyes. He still sighs and groans in that perfect agonized way when Scholle sinks fully into him. His eyes still flutter when Scholle pulls out, slides back in. He still feels good, so damn good when Scholle fucks him. Although he doesn't want to call it fucking, not with the way Till's clinging to him and responding to him. Till's body is the most perfect instrument he could ever play and he knows every string and the best way to pluck them and make him sing. 

Scholle groans when Till trembles and tightens, his hair falls into his eyes as he balances over Till's body. "I love you" he says because now that he can, he feels like he should say it as much as possible. Till just laughs breathlessly, head tossed back, God but he's beautiful like this.

Scholle pauses so he can shift a little, pushes Till's thighs even further apart so he can get closer, change the angle so he goes deeper. It's too much and it's not enough, he feels like he's on fire as he pulls out, pushes in and sends Till howling over the edge. He tries to keep going but the sensation is overwhelming and he falls apart buried in his lover, eyes screwed shut against the blinding white flashing across his vision.

When he opens them again, Till is gazing at him with such open adoration, tired but with his emotions written plainly across his face. Faintly Scholle thinks this is ridiculous, he can't have fallen this hard this quickly for some country boy. He pillows his head on Till's broad chest anyway, too tired for anymore existential dread, and falls asleep to the rhythm of his heart beating steadily under his ribcage. 

In the morning when Till asks him to stay, like he did that first morning after, Scholle hesitates. Till doesn't mean stay in bed, Till means stay here, because Till doesn't like where Scholle lives. The unpleasant prickle of 'too much, too soon' crawls up Scholle's spine and he rolls quickly out of bed to shake himself out of it. 

He looks back and finds Till watching him as he so often does, with patience and fondness like he just knows he'll come around eventually. Scholle wants to be annoyed but he finds himself powerless when faced with the depths of those gorgeous green eyes. He crawls back onto the bed with a grumpiness he doesn't really feel and kisses Till a little more roughly than he deserves. 

He says he'll think about it and Till beams. He's late to his band practise because they fuck again in the late morning sunlight. He doesn't care in the slightest.

-

"Disgusting." Paul grumbles, days later, as Scholle crawls drunkenly into Till's arms. Till sticks his tongue out at him childishly and pulls Scholle even closer. They're crashing at Paul and Flake's place again after watching them play and Scholle's drunk and clingy. He seems determined to occupy all of Till's personal space, his limbs wrapped awkwardly around him and his face pressed against Till's neck. 

It's _nice_ and he's happy and some deep part of him tells him constantly that he doesn't deserve this, and that the rug is going to be pulled from out from under his feet at any moment. But then Scholle kisses his neck and rumbles incoherently about the way he smells and he forgets to be worried about it. His skin heats up and Paul laughs at them both.

"I knew this would happen." Paul rolls his eyes and throws a blanket at them when it becomes clear Scholle isn't for moving any time soon. "Completely insufferable."

Till awkwardly drags the blanket over them both with his hand that isn't firmly wrapped around Scholle and then sticks a finger up at Paul. "Fuck off."

Paul just laughs again, and pats Till on the shoulder as he walks off to drag a drunk and half passed out Flake to bed. And then he's left in the dark and the quiet, Scholle's snuffly breathing and the city noises keeping him company. He doesn't sleep, partly because he's too uncomfortable but he doesn't dare move for fear of disturbing Scholle. And partly because his head is spinning from allowing himself to hope for more. Love doesn't guarantee anything, he knows that, but for now he's chosen to ignore it. Especially when he feels Scholle's hands push under his shirt to seek out his skin, fingertips brushing his nipples and forcing a soft gasp from him. 

He ends up with Scholle's head between his legs under the blanket and it's messy and uncoordinated and it's so fucking perfect he could cry. He sleeps afterwards, and dreams of what might be.

-

Scholle takes a deep breath, this is what he wants, he tells himself. Even so it takes him a few minutes to actually lift his hand and knock at the door. 

It's a few minutes before it opens and Till stands there, looking rumpled and a little surprised to see him. Scholle offers him a nervous smile which Till immediately returns, warm and welcoming. He steps back and allows the door to open fully, Scholle catches the exact moment he clocks the guitar case and duffel bag and the warm smile turns into a brilliant grin. He takes the bag from Scholle's hand, gentle but in a way that suggests he won't hear any protests, and ushers Scholle inside. 

"Till…" Scholle begins as soon as the door clicks shut, but he doesn't really know what he wants to say, or even what he can say. Till puts the bag down on the couch and pries the guitar case out of his hands with gentle fingers. Scholle stands a little dumbly watching Till reverently give his most prized possession a place in his house.

"Till." He tries again, the tiniest crack in his voice. 

"Scholle." Till replies softly and hauls him into his arms. He feels steady and safe and like something Scholle isn't quite ready to call _home_ but he's pretty sure he could learn to be. 

He curls his arms around Till's waist and clings to him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He breathes in Till's workshop and cigarette smoke scent and sighs happily. Till chuckles softly in his ear and tugs on an errant blond dreadlock. 

"So are you staying with me?" He asks and squeezes him tighter, presses a kiss to his cheek. "Well… us." He amends with a tiny flicker of his eyes towards the room where Scholle knows his daughter sleeps.

Scholle pulls back just enough to look him in the eye without stepping out of his arms. "If you'll have me?" He tries to keep the uncertainty out of his voice but if Till changed his mind now, he doesn't think he could take it.

Till just cups his cheeks with his large, warm hands and tells him, with finality. "I'll always have you." 

When he kisses him, Scholle finds himself believing every word. 

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the longest thing I have ever written. Hopefully as enjoyable to read as it was to write. Thank you if you have stuck with this, I love and appreciate you very much <3
> 
> I'm kitthefox on tumblr, come and say hi :)


End file.
